


succulent peaches we devour

by amberfox17



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Thor (Comics), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Food Porn, Frottage, Fruit, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Teasing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1217419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you sure you don’t want some?” Loki asks, smirking, and Thor can only shake his head. “They really are delicious,” Loki says, eyes wide with what a more foolish man might mistake for innocence. “Newly ripe and very juicy.”</p><p>He makes his point by pressing his mouth to the soft peach and letting the abundant juices spill over his red lips and trickle down his chin as he takes a bite. He sucks at the succulent flesh with abandon, making the most obscene noises as he swallows and hums with pleasure.</p><p>Agent of Asgard Loki / 616 Comics Thor porn!</p>
            </blockquote>





	succulent peaches we devour

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [ 'From Blossoms' by Li-Young Lee](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171754).  
> Inspired by [this](http://scallyguy.net/2013/10/17/matthew-keading-photo-set-solo-8teenboy-2/) and [this](http://thedirtysideofmarty.tumblr.com/post/67967231262) and [this](http://www.myvidster.com/video/21371523/Rod_Daily_amp_Matthew_Keading). Links VERY NSFW. Model & Loki 20+ :3

“Are you sure you don’t want some?” Loki asks, smirking, and Thor can only shake his head. “They really are delicious,” Loki says, eyes wide with what a more foolish man might mistake for innocence. “Newly ripe and _very_ juicy.”

He makes his point by pressing his mouth to the soft peach and letting the abundant juices spill over his red lips and trickle down his chin as he takes a bite. He sucks at the succulent flesh with abandon, making the most obscene noises as he swallows and hums with pleasure.

Loki deliberately shifts his grip on the plump fruit, skimming his long fingers over the crease of the peach, his bright green eyes alive with mischief and utterly fixated on Thor. Thor shifts uncomfortably and immediately regrets it as Loki’s lips twitch upward.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want a taste?” Loki asks sweetly, offering the half-eaten peach, fingers and mouth sticky and shining. “Dear brother?”

“Loki…” Thor says, low and gravelly, meaning it as a warning, a prelude to another refusal, a scolding for Loki’s ever-escalating teasing. But Loki takes it as an invitation and leans forward, pressing the dripping peach to Thor’s parted lips.

“Go on,” Loki says softly.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.

But it feels inevitable as he leans forward and takes a bite, lets the flavour explode on his tongue and the sweet juices soak his chin, and as he swallows Loki’s eyes track the movement with a familiar hunger.

“Loki,” he says again, and then, “brother, I will not -”

“Please, Thor,” Loki interrupts, expression open and wanting, and Thor remembers viscerally how soft and silky the skin of his inner thighs felt, how they quivered around Thor’s face as Loki pleaded, breathlessly, for Thor to stop teasing him, how he arched under every touch and caress, beautiful and happy and entirely Thor’s in those stolen moments in their youth.

But this is not quite that Loki, and Thor is no longer a brash youth caught up in a new and forbidden passion, desperate for more, heedless of the consequences.

“I cannot,” Thor says, lifting a hand to stroke Loki’s face, unable to prevent a shudder when Loki turns his head and licks at his fingers, lathing the rough calluses with his pink tongue and sucking gently on the tips. “Loki, I must not.”

At the time, the growth of their affection into sensuality had seemed both daring and harmless, merely more sport between them, but in the dark days that followed as Loki had fallen deeper and deeper into the shadows in his mind, Thor had started to wonder if this was where the rot set in. Perhaps if they had been only brothers, their bond would not have been corrupted by Loki’s hatred and jealousy?

It is that thought that makes him wary now, desperate not to repeat the mistakes of the past. It has been so hard to trust Loki again, and to keep little Loki’s faith in him, and he does not want to do anything to compromise their new relationship.

He expects Loki to ask why, to protest, to argue; instead Loki just hums thoughtfully, his teeth pricking at Thor’s thumb before he pulls away. “Then do not,” Loki says, putting some much needed space between them, still holding the peach in one hand. “Do nothing, _noble_ Thor.”

Thor watches him suspiciously, knowing better than to think this a surrender. Loki casually tosses the half-eaten peach aside and turns on his heel to saunter towards his bedroom, swaying his hips in a blatant invitation.

Thor follows, knowing himself to be snared on Loki’s hook, feeling the tug of a leash that has bound them for centuries. One goes, the other follows; even in this strange time, in these new bodies and amidst the new technology of Midgard, the old truths still hold.

Loki’s bedroom is very…green. Green sheets on the bed, green curtains, a plush green rug on the floor…Thor snorts. Indeed, some things never change. But, then again, some things do: Loki tosses him a sultry glance and begins to disrobe, so artlessly that it can only be an act.

Slowly but steadily, the planes and angles and ripe flesh of Loki’s new body is revealed to Thor, even more luscious than he remembers. Long, lean legs, a trim waist, and the perfect peach-soft curves of his arse, and Thor swallows heavily, the taste of peach-syrup still thick on his tongue.

Oh, but he _remembers_ this, and remembers what followed, and all the long buried memories stir and sigh in the older, darker parts of his mind, shaking off the dust and clawing their way out from his hind brain. His little brother. His first lover. _His_ Loki.

“It seems a shame to waste such good eating,” Loki says and it takes Thor a long moment to shake his memories away and see the Loki who is here, now, lying on the bed and, somehow, once again brandishing a damnable peach. “So if _you_ will not eat your fill…”

Loki presses a fresh peach to his mouth and in the quiet Thor can hear the wet slap as Loki’s teeth break the skin, the lewd squelch as he sucks hard at the sopping flesh. His bright magpie eyes watch Thor with open glee as the juice bursts across his face and drips down his bare chest. His free hand follows, flitting lightly over his marble skin, tracing his own ribcage and sternum, one fingertip catching the sticky juice and smearing it ever lower, down over the arch of his hipbone and into the hollow there beneath, stopping just short of the tempting tangle of dark hair at his crotch.

“Must you tease me so,” Thor says, unable to look away, hands itching to cover every inch of skin there exposed for him, gaze focused on where Loki’s cock is swelling, thickening, the rosy head just beginning to peek from the foreskin. “I would do right by you, my brother, and yet you -”

“Thor,” Loki sighs, abandoning the peach so he can curl one arm behind his head and have the other hand settle on the soft curls at the base of his cock. “Stop thinking. You are terrible at it.”

Thor huffs a laugh and Loki smiles at him, a genuine toothy grin. “Trust me,” he says, in that infuriating you’ll-regret-it-but-you-won’t-care tone, and really, Thor ought to know better by now.

He doesn’t.

“What would you have me do?” Thor says, settling himself at the foot of Loki’s bed, leaning against the balustrade there, hands held loosely in his lap, doing his best to ignore how _small_ Loki is now he is sprawled out before him. In all of his memories, he and Loki are of a size – he a little broader, yes, but otherwise much alike. But now, he dwarfs his little brother, his thighs like tree trunks next to Loki’s slender limbs, and he thinks he could likely encompass Loki’s waist with both hands. It stirs a possessive desire in him, something old and primal, and this is helped not at all by the way Loki brushes his bare foot lightly along Thor’s boots.

“Nothing,” Loki says, flushed with victory. “You need not lay a finger on me, brother mine. Just watch me.”

“That is all?” Thor asks, and even he could not say if he is relieved or disappointed.

“This time,” Loki says, eyelashes fluttering like a coquette as his fingers begin to walk the length of his stirring cock, and Thor cannot help the quiet groan that escapes him.

Loki watches him from beneath the shadow of his dark lashes, his attention focused like a brand against Thor’s face, even as Thor’s own gaze roams over the expanse of pale flesh stark against the absinthe-green of the silk sheets. Loki is a tease, even to himself, and he sets his fine, long fingers to sliding over his own skin, raising fine tremors of gooseflesh over his body as he caresses himself, teasing at the fine peach-fuzz hair that covers his arms, his legs, his flushed chest. His back arches as he rolls a rosy nipple between his fingertips, pinching at the swollen flesh until both stand proud, and as he does so he throws his head back and offers up the cool line of his throat, just begging to be bruised and bitten and claimed.

This is the price of Thor’s sin, his purgatory and punishment, and he drinks it all in, feeling the gravity in his heart shift as he falls into temptation’s murky depths, as the beautiful boy who is and was and is again his brother, his and not his, innocent and knowing, finally gives way in his self-teasing and lets his hand glide over his taut stomach and down to where his cock lies hard against his belly.

Loki rubs his thumb over the head, gathering the slick gathered there, and eases his foreskin down, exposing a tip just as swollen and red as Loki’s nipples. He gives a soft cry at his own sure, slow touch, and Thor grunts in response, low and hungry, and must shift and paw at his own crotch to relive some of the pressure against his own throbbing cock.

“A-ah-ah,” Loki scolds, voice catching as he slowly strokes himself, “you must only watch, dear brother. You must not touch me, nor yourself, or the game will be over.”

“I agreed to no game,” Thor says roughly, but he leaves off, having at least adjusted his erection so it is not quite so painfully trapped in his trousers.

“And yet I still intend to win one,” Loki murmurs, but with no particular inflection, and Thor is not the slightest bit interested in debating the point, not when Loki is beginning to move with purpose, hips rolling and lifting as he strokes himself, sighing with pleasure at his own touch.

Thor does not think he has ever done this before; stillness and silence are not his preferred form of bedsport, after all, and though he has cast an appreciative eye over many beauties in his time, ever has it been as prelude to touching and tasting and taking. But there is something wonderfully intimate about this, a strange thrill in simply watching, in giving Loki his undivided attention and admiring the quick rise and fall of Loki’s chest, the muscles beginning to strain in his thighs, the enticing way his cock head peeks between his fingers as he pushes into his hand.

“Thor,” Loki sighs, eyes half-lidded, and Thor knows now no response is required, nor wanted. He is to watch and surely Loki feels the weight of his gaze upon him, for he moans and moves a little faster, hand gripping a little tighter, narrow frame undulating under the force of his own desire, legs falling outward, spreading wider –

And now Loki has the fingers of his other hand in his mouth and is lathing them with his pink tongue, covering them in saliva, and Thor’s own breathing quickens in anticipation. Will he? – yes, yes, he will, and once his fingers are slick and as sopping wet as he can make them, he braces his feet flat against the bed and snakes his hand around so he can rub his forefinger over his exposed hole.

Loki groans, the low rumble rising to a sharp ‘ah!’ as he pushes just the tip of one finger inside himself, arm bent awkwardly to reach between his cheeks, his other hand still working steadily at his thick cock. Thor grits his teeth and fists his hands at his side before he can reach for his own cock or for Loki himself, for he will be damned before he spoils this game now.

“Thor,” Loki says again, rolling the ‘o’ in his mouth like a peach stone, dragging the long vowel out as his voice rises and falls with his panting, as he works one finger further into his willing flesh and tugs ever faster at his straining cock. “Thor,” he moans, eyes falling closed, “Thor, uh, Thor, Thor, Thor -” and just as the last threads of Thor’s patience creak and snap, Loki’s litany begins to break, voice climbing as his body shudders, hands moving frantically as he approaches his climax.

“Loki,” Thor growls, lust thickening his voice, and Loki cries out as he comes, back arching like a drawn bow, body one taut line, as his cock leaps and his creamy seed spills over his chest. In the aftermath of his pleasure, Loki is a tangle of loose limbs, both hands falling to his side, a dreamy smile playing across his face, and this may be closest he has ever come to angelic, flushed and beautiful and floating in his bliss.

To Hel with it. Standing idly by has never been Thor’s preferred strategy.

It is a temptation too far, and Thor surges up to his knees, yanking at his trousers until his own aching cock can spring free. He grabs the startled Loki by the ankle and drags him further down the bed with one swift pull, so that in but a few seconds he can cover Loki’s body with his own, bracing his far greater weight on his elbows so he will not crush him.

“Yes,” Loki says, eyes flying wide open, “Thor, yes, _please_ ,” and Thor can refuse him no longer but must kiss him, must feel the softness of those parted lips, must lick the faint trace of peach from Loki’s mouth to taste him fully. Loki is just as sweet as he remembers and far more hungry, for he arches up into Thor immediately, hands scrabbling at Thor’s tunic, barely able to reach past where Thor’s bunched arm muscles box him in.

Thor’s own erection, ignored for so long, slides along Loki’s hipbones and along his belly, dragging through Loki’s own sweat and seed, and Od’s blood, but Loki is _tiny_ , all but buried beneath Thor’s bulk, whipcord strong and toned, yes, but so much narrower than Thor remembers him being, a creature of frantic pulse and fragile bone as Thor kisses him and pushes him harder into the bed.

Thor kisses him until the blood is roaring in his ears and he must breathe or be lost, and then, only reluctantly does he raise himself up to look down into Loki’s face. Loki’s pupils are so swamped his eyes seem entirely black, and his lips are red and swollen from the force of Thor’s kisses. He cannot be sorry for it, not when Loki pants and whines and tries to pull Thor down for more, but with the pause comes a flicker of sense, and he stills long enough to cradle Loki’s head in his palm.

“Brother,” he says, “may I -”

“Yes,” Loki laughs, “you fool, I’m amazed you waited this long -” and Thor shifts his grip, moves each hand to firmly grasp the pert globes of Loki’s ass, and forgets his long-experience and supposed wisdom and simply grinds against the body beneath him, so desperate to come that he needs nothing more than the warmth of Loki’s body and the friction of his skin, just as he needed nothing more all that time before when they were both youths caught in the frenzy of newfound desire.

He turns his head to mouth at Loki’s face again, covering his chin and cheek with sloppy kisses until he finds his mouth, and there he gasps and kisses and groans, Loki nipping at his slack lips and teasing him with sly flicks of his tongue, his clever fingers snaking between their bodies to squeeze lightly at Thor’s fat cockhead before forming a fist that Thor can push into. His other hand wraps itself around Thor’s shaft, barely able to get a proper grip on the girth of it, and that knowledge alone has Thor’s hips snapping forward, his pleasure building as he fucks into Loki’s hands and swallows up his kisses.

It is a fumble of hands and mouths and awkward limbs and yet Thor would not change it for the world, can think of nothing but Loki’s beauty, the taste of salt in the sweat beading across his upper lip, the heavy musk of sex that lies thick upon them both, his Loki watching him from bare inches away, eyes aflame with desire and love and triumph, and Thor groans again, one long exhale, as his orgasm overtakes him and he spills over Loki’s warm skin.

He rolls to the side, careful not to crush Loki’s slighter frame, and belatedly realises he still fully dressed and his tunic is now sticking to him in a very unpleasant way. He turns to look at Loki and another realisation strikes him: he has left the faint imprints of his seams and buckles along Loki’s bare chest, along with the copious creamy come that is dripping from Loki’s peach-soft skin.

It pleases him more than it probably should.

So does the fact that Loki’s cock is making a valiant effort to stir again already; ah, the joys of youth.

“So, _big_ brother,” Loki purrs, stretching like a cat before fixing Thor with a smug grin; “are you still hungry?”


End file.
